“Never.” I leaned closer, making sure he saw the absolute truth in my eyes. “Austin, listen to me closely. I am not trying to replace your father. Marco was a great man, and he will always be your dad. Always. Nothing—and no one—can change that. Not ever.”
Austin swallowed hard, his small hands tightening on the edge of the desk. “Good. Because I won’t let anyone replace him.”
“I wouldn’t want to,” I promised. “Think of me as... reinforcements. An extra person in your corner. Someone to help your mom carry the load so you don’t have to worry so much.”
Hope flashed across Austin’s face, warring with his self-imposed duty. “I have to worry. Mom forgets things when she’s sad. Like toast.”
“I know. And that’s exactly why I want to be here. To help with the toast. And the homework. And to make sure Rome doesn’t launch himself into orbit.”
A small, reluctant smile touched his lips. “He almost did with the catapult.”
“Exactly. That’s a two-man job to supervise.” I paused, letting the moment settle. “So, what do you think? Would it be okay if I joined the team?”
Austin stared at me for a long moment, and I could almost see the calculations running behind those intelligent eyes—assessing me, weighing the risks, measuring my sincerity against his protective instincts.
“Okay,” he said finally. “You can marry Mom.”
The air rushed out of my lungs in a relief so profound it made me dizzy. “Thank you, Austin. That means a lot to me.”
He nodded, his expression serious again. “But there are conditions.”
I tried not to smile. Of course there were. “Name them.”
“One: You must promise not to make her cry. She cried a lot after Dad died, and I don’t want her to be sad anymore.”
“I promise to do everything in my power to make her smile,” I vowed solemnly.
“Two,” he continued, holding up a second finger. “You have to help me finish Dad’s rocket. The instructions are complicated, and Mom doesn’t understand aerodynamics.”
I glanced at the model on the side table. “Deal. I’m quite good with aerodynamics.”
“And three...” His voice dropped, becoming hesitant for the first time. “Do I... do I have to call you Dad?”
The question hung in the air, heavy with loyalty and fear.
“Only if you want to,” I said immediately. “And only when—or if—you’re ever ready. You can call me Patrick. Or 'Hey You'. Or 'The Scottish Guy'. Whatever feels right. There is absolutely no rush.”
He nodded again, visibly relieved. “Okay. Patrick is good.”
“Patrick is perfect.”
He let out a breath, and suddenly he looked just like a little boy again, the weight of the world lifting slightly from his shoulders. He reached into the desk drawer and pulled out the partially completed model rocket.
“Dad and I were building this,” he said, his voice soft. “He said we’d launch it when it was done. It’s a Saturn V replica.”
“It’s excellent craftsmanship,” I said, examining the fuselage. “Detailed. We’ll need to double-check the fin alignment before we paint it.”
Austin’s smile was small but genuine, and for the first time, it reached his eyes. “I knew you’d notice the fins.”
I stood, patting the pocket where the engagement ring sat heavy and warm. “Actually, we might need the entire team for the next part. Mrs. Kowalski has prepared a feast at my house. She says it’s a ‘practice run’ for blending the families, which usually means she’s cooked enough food for a small battalion.”
Austin’s eyes widened slightly. “At your house?”
“Aye. We’ll need to take both cars to fit everyone.” I winked at him. “Think you can help me round up the troops?”
“I’m on it.” Austin slid out of the chair, clutching his rocket.
The drive to Silver Creek was a loud affair. I took the older boys—Austin, Alec, Blaze, and Brody—while Theresa wrangled the younger set in her minivan. My Land Rover was filled with questions about Scotland, debates about whether the Loch Ness Monster could beat Godzilla, and Austin explaining the physics of tire friction to a skeptical Blaze.
